


The Horses are up to Something

by CousinNick



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: BroncoBuster!Marco, F/F, F/M, Horse AU, Horseback Riding, Jean is the worst Dressage rider in existence, M/M, Terrible barnyard boyfriends, Trans Jean, Trans Jean is best Jean, TrickRider!Marco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-31 11:08:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CousinNick/pseuds/CousinNick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco Bodt is a sweet and gentle trick rider and bronco buster, Jean Kirschtein is a shitty Dressage rider with a bad attitude. Unexpectedly, and with a lot of scheming on the part of their respective mounts, these two men from different worlds somehow fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Appaloosa in the Morning

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah, I was that one kid obsessed with horses -- don't judge me. However, I haven't ridden in the longest time, so bare with me as some instances in this fic might not be up to par with the current horse world, also, I was never a Dressage or trick rider, hah, I did barrel racing. (I'm trash). 
> 
> A special thanks to Carsan, without her help this fic would have never been drawn up!!! Thank you, you talented little shit.

“Your horse’s ass is in my way,” was the first thing Jean had the displeasure of muttering at 6:15 am in the Goddamn morning. Wiping his cold red blushed nose with his sleeve jacket, he tapped his foot impatiently. The horses tail, black and glossy, swatted nonchalantly in his way. Jean seethed, fighting the urge to beat the living shit out of the horse’s owner with his riding crop. He didn’t recognize the brand on the horse’s rump, two swords seemingly intercrossed, so Jean could safely assume this guy was a newbie. Jean hated newbie’s; always thinking they owned the place, all haughty and shit. Inhaling the scent of the early morning, Jean steeled his eyes to the back of the man’s neck, starting vehemently at it.  
  
“Excuse me, cowboy? Can you please move your Appy?!” Jean almost growled, taking a sip of his sugary sweet hot coffee to try and calm his nerves. The guy, who Jean could only identify by his red-dusted black cowboy hat and his big flannel jacket and jeans, didn’t seem to hear him as he kept filling out some form of paperwork, pressing the pages to a nearby wall for a flat writing surface. Leaning forward slightly, Jean noticed it was boarding and lease papers. Jean grimaced, realizing he was going to have to be dealing with this asshole for quite a while. Just Jean’s luck.  
  
This day had already started out on a sour note when his car wouldn’t start because of early-morning frost, not to mention Hanji had demanded he come in extra early to try a new Dressage course she had drawn up. Jean shivered, knowing the training today was going to be hell. He could already anticipate the ache he would have in his thighs and the sting in his lower back. He frowned glumly.  
  
The horse, who Jean was pretty sure had begun to pee a little — right in the middle of the fucking concrete floor before the little station — went right on standing in front of the small office opening that Jean had to squeeze by. He could go the long route through the numerous rows of stalls, but Jean was stubborn and it was principal of the fucking matter.  
  
Thinking he’d soon grow dizzy from looking at the Appaloosa’s spotted ass any longer, Jean decided he had had enough.  
  
“Look,” He raised his voice, noticing the guy in response had stopped writing. Jean minutely realized he had freckles all along his tan and callused hands.  
  
“Were you raised in a fucking barn?” Jean snarled, the insult sounding a little too cliché for the particular setting they were situated in, but in that moment Jean really didn’t care.  
  
At Jeans harsh words, the guy, whose face at that moment Jean realized wasn’t speckled with dirt — but instead freckles — smiled widely in the others direction.  
  
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize she was in your way, hah.” The guy chuckled, like this was some kind of friendly conversation the two were having at, Jean flicked his eyes to his watch, 6:20 in the morning. Fuckin’ Christ.  
  
“Yeah, well, just,” Jean flicked his riding glove snug hands at the horses rump, “make her move.” He grumbled sourly to the mare. She flicked her ears away from Jean with disinterest. Jean had never wanted to pick a fight with a horse as badly as he did now, not even that one spat with Jaeger’s big dumb mustang compared to the feeling of contempt Jean had for the pair. Although, Jean’s mind betrayed him, the cowboy was pretty fucking cute.  
  
After clicking his tongue and nudging his horse backward with expertise, a pathway was finally created for Jean and the exit. Jean sighed with relief, though he would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little disappointed to be leaving. Sure, the guy was clueless, if not a bit ignorant, but damn if he didn’t fit his riding jeans nicely. But, glumly, Jean came to a sad conclusion. The guy looked like a western rider, meaning Jean and him probably wouldn’t be seeing much of each other, as Jean was strictly an English rider. It wasn’t that Jean was normally a creeper or even a flirt, but shit, this guy screamed All American Boy, and Jean was itching for a slice of apple pie.  
  
Jean snorted, shifting himself in his step to curb the beginnings of an erection, Jesus Christ, Kirschtein, get it together, he mentally kicked himself.  
  
Taking a discreet sip of his coffee, Jean walked past the giant of a horse, her lips coming to try and nip at the scarf wrapped around Jean’s neck. Jean glared at the mare, she just snorted, shaking her head up in down in a mocking gesture.  
  
“Sorry for the trouble,” The guy smirked, tugging his mount closer to him so she wouldn’t take a chunk out of Jeans arm. Fuckin’ horse was mean, Jean thought, even more so than Jean’s own mount — and Cheval was a pain in everyone’s ass.  
  
“Nah, I’m- I’m sorry, today has just been a real shit storm.” Jean scratched the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you or your horse.” Jean swallowed thickly, wondering why he wanted to make up with this stranger so badly. Perhaps the guys “easy-go-lucky” attitude and smile were just contagious? Jean furrowed his brows, not liking the twitching warm feeling that was beginning to grow in his gut.  
  
“Don’t mention it, Lucky can be a real brat sometimes,” Marco smirked, patting Lucky on her snout. She huffed softly, her lips wobbling to nip at her owner’s fingers playfully. Marco chuckled.  
Jean inwardly groaned; that laugh was going to be the death of him.  
  
Nodding, not knowing what to say, and fearing if he did say something he’d make a giant fool of himself, Jean made a move to turn away, heading straight for the back arena.  
  
Noticing the other was about to leave, the freckled cowboy stepped forward, catching Jeans attention. “So, I guess I’ll see you later, uh…?” His dark brow eyes seemed hopeful, sparkling from the artificial glare of the stable lights blaring down on them.  
  
“Jean! Uh, my name- my name is Jean,” The two-toned blonde blurted out with a sudden and very embarrassing croak. Judging from the surprised widening of the other man’s eyes at Jean’s exclamation; Jean guessed the guy was just as unnerved by the shout as Jean was.  
  
Lucky, at his side, only nickered with boredom at the two men’s exchange, head butting her owner to get a move on. She had important things to do, like a stall to shit in and soaked hay to eat.  
  
“Ah, well, Jean, my name’s Marco,” He brought his finger above his lip in what Jean could only describe as the cutest nervous gesture he had ever seen. “Nice to have met you.” He smiled boyishly again, the gesture looking almost dumb on his soft and broad features. The guy was taller than Jean by at least an inch, but his broad shoulders and well-defined chest gave him the appearance that he was taller than he actually was. Still, he seemed to have the same mannerisms as a big floppy eared puppy.  
  
Jean, not trusting his voice any more, nodded politely again before he turned around, walking down the graveled path towards the hitching post where his horse was waiting for him, already tacked and warmed up. Marco didn’t stop Jean again in his walk, and Jean was a little spooked by how disappointed that made him.  
  
…  
  
“Jeaaaaaaaaaaaaaan, no, take Cheval to the left, tighter, tighter!” Hanji’s voice blared excitedly over the arena, her fist pumps and loud grating voice nearly shying her own horse, a big Bavarian Warmblood Bay named Bean. Her horse’s giant ears pricked up and alert, tapping his feet back in forth with well-curbed excitement, just like his owner.  
  
“He keeps fighting me!” Jean shouted back at the trainer, his fingers feeling like they were going to fall off as he once again tried to get his mount to turn tighter and faster, to lope his gait like his teacher was instructing him to do. But Cheval was having none of it and instead was thrusting his head up in defiance.  
  
“Tighter!” Hanji encouraged, her eyes eager as she watched Jean in the middle of the ring.  
  
“If I turn him any tighter his head will be shoved up his ass!” Jean snarled, feeling the reins strain in his grip.  
  
“Just like his owner,” Jean heard Eren Jaeger snort from the far left side of the ring. Jean shot a glare in his direction as Cheval spun Jean lazily again around, but not in the correct form, not by far.  
  
“Jaeger, you’re not even training for the spring Dressage competitions, why the fuck are you even here?!” Jean huffed, squeezing Cheval around his middle with his legs even though Jean realized a little too late that that would end in disaster. His horse picked up speed, stepping over his own limbs with an angry snort in the November air.  
  
“I like to learn.” Jaeger said simply, turning to Hanji, who beamed. She, by some dumb stuck of luck, found Eren and his brashness endearing. Jean felt like vomiting at the idea that anyone could deal with Eren’s bullshit and even grow to tolerate it.  
  
“Teachers pet,” Jean mumbled sourly to himself.  
  
“Fuck!” Jean suddenly exclaimed with exasperation, his chestnut gelding finally deciding enough was enough with a little agitated buck. Jean immediately lost control, urging his mount desperately to still himself, but the young gelding had other plans — such as ramming Jean harshly into one of the pens corral posts, causing Jeans leg to sting with what would soon become a big purple and yellow bruise. “Fuckin’ asshole,” he seethed through clenched teeth. He could have sworn his horse snickered in amusement.  
  
Hanji frowned, clucking her tongue and urging Bean forward to meet side by side with Jean’s own horse. Cheval warningly bit at Beans friendly nudging, causing Hanji to shake her head in disappointment, though more for Jean’s poor skills than the chestnut’s behavior. “Give me your crop, you’ve been relying on it too much these past few weeks; in events, dressage whips are strictly forbidden!” Jean nodded solemnly, hearing Jaeger’s laugher prickle against his ears. Jean’s face burned red from embarrassment.  
  
“Use the switch as a guide, never as a weapon!” She hummed taking back Jean’s crop. She rested it on her saddles pommel, turning back to Jean with a kind smile and a look of determination in her eyes.  
  
“You’re relying too much on your own commands.”  
  
Jean looked at her dumbly. “What.” His look of deadpanned confusion only spurred her on.  
  
Hanji grinned, “A horse knows when his gait is off, with transitions of pace, horses can find their own balance, absent of their owner’s lead. Work as a team with Cheval, but give him room to find his footing, he knows more about how he moves than you do.” With a nod, she clipped Bean back into a trot, swerving him perfectly along the obstacle form that Jean had been struggling with for the last hour. With a gentle lead, Bean pivoted his legs gracefully, his gait correct and his curved hoofs weaving in and out with accurate precision.  
  
After Hanji pulled him to a halt, the whole class, consisting of only Eren, Mikasa, and that one weird shaking kid that Jean vaguely remembered was named Dazz, all clapped in applause.  
  
“Now, it’s your turn.” The goggles over her eyes did nothing to hide her gleaming gaze.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Jean steadied his hands, clicking his tongue and squeezing easily at his horses middle, urging him back into a trot.  
  
The seconds ticked by as Cheval’s pace quickened smoothly, and soon Jean regained his bearings.  
  
That day was the first of many days that Jean finally finished a segment of a course from start to finish without a sprain or scratch endured during the ride. Scratching his pain in the ass horse behind his ears, Jean huffed with satisfaction.  
  
“Spring trials here I come.”  
  
…  
  
Jean cracked his neck back and forth as he led a sweaty and far too wound up Cheval to the inside stable grooming post. Jean knew that grooming his sweaty horse out in the fall cold would result in more risk that he wanted at the moment for his horse’s legs and lungs, so Jean decided to patiently walk his horse to the inside hitch where he knew it would be nice and warm — a treat for both of them.  
  
Smirking as his horse nipped at Jean’s back pockets for a treat, Jean led his stubborn mount past the awning that led to the small and usually crowded mounting area that Erwin, the stable owner, had created. However, Jean wasn’t the only one using the station, he soon discovered.  
  
Jean recognized those spots — and those freckles. Feeling that queasy bubbling start to form in his gut, he swallowed his nausea back down.  
  
“He-hey.” Jean waved in greeting as Marco, who had been busy running a currycomb over Lucky’s gleaming coat, threw the tool in a bucket. Smiling up at Jean past his horses sloping back, Marco met Jeans nervous smile with a grin. “Hey!”  
  
“She’s looking nice, isn’t she?” Jean mused, running his hands against the horse’s sleek coat. She straightened herself happily, as if enjoying the attention given to her by the rude man from earlier that day.  
  
“Yep, she cleans up beautifully.” Marco hummed, running a body brush once or twice with the grain of her coat before, biting his lip in a search for imperfections, deemed Lucky clean enough.  
  
“This your horse?” Marco walked past Lucky; hand on her rump to let her know where he was, before he was standing quite close to Jean and Cheval, Jean himself feeling the heat from the other mans body.  
  
Jean stuttered for a seconds before he nodded curtly. “His name’s Cheval… It… It uh, means ‘horse’ in French. Heh.” Just shoot me, Jean thought.  
  
“Clever.” Marco raised his brows, obviously teasing Jean. The two-toned blond felt himself laugh, “and Lucky is any better?”  
  
Marco rolled his eyes. “Hey, her name has a story.” Marco assured Jean, untying the lead ropes quick release knot, his mare stepping slowly away from the metal ring that she had been tied to.  
  
“Oh?” Jean prompted, an easiness taking over his voice as he, with great care for Cheval’s probably sore mouth, took his bridle off, silently scrunching up his nose at the green slime falling from his horse’s bit.  
  
“Yeah, unlike your dumb horse’s name,” Marco sassed, leading his mare into what looked to be a newly cleaned stall, laden with fresh litter. “I mean, who names their horse… ‘horse‘? What is this, Pokemon?” Marco laughed, latching up his horse’s stall before he took off his hat, wiping at his forehead which Jean excitedly realized was also slightly dotted with freckles.  
  
Jean pulled his lips into a teasing frown, working at the cinch at his horse’s saddle, Cheval for once standing still save for nipping at the lead rope of his halter lazily.  
  
“French names are very prestigious, you know.” Jean informed the other, causing Marco to snort, as he leaned against the bars behind him. “Okay, Jeeee-ah-nnnn.” He grinned, earning a swat from one of Jeans riding gloves.  
  
“You know, you’re not as big of an asshole in the afternoon as you are in the morning.” Marco commented after a few quiet seconds.  
  
Jean bit his cheek, staving off a scathing retort. He merely shot a crooked smile in the cowboy’s direction, “Coffee is a wondrous thing.” Jean hummed, heaving the saddle up and down to cradle against the crook of his arms. He set it down on its stand, deciding he could always polish it later.  
  
“So I hear… you wanna go grab a cup with me?” Jean heard Marco ask, the western rider’s voice seeped in something that sounded deliciously like hope.  
  
Jean felt his face flush, tasting his pounding heartbeat all the way in his throat.  
  
“Uh…” Was he asking Jean out on a date? Jean felt his heart spike up even at the possibility.  
  
Marco beamed sheepishly, “Yeah, since I’m the new guy around some of the other riders invited me to go grab some drinks after training, y’know, to get rid of this chill in our bones.” Marco’s voice was so elated and filled with contentment that Jean almost felt ashamed that he had expected something entirely different from the other man’s words, like, y’know, a chance to get to know each other. Alone. In a romantic setting. Jean sighed, biting his lip a little before he huffed in what he hoped was an agreeable noise.  
  
“I’d love to, just let me settle this little brat down.” Jean busied himself with tangling a metal comb through Cheval’s mane, the braids Jean had set in this morning having already become gnarled and ragged.  
  
“Sure thing,” Marco said excitedly, placing his hat back snugly atop his head as he grabbed a pen by the clipboard secured near the wood of Lucky’s stall, a ways away from the bars so the pesky mare couldn’t nip at the clip.  
  
Watching as Marco made a few notes on the paper, Jean eyed a few lines of the script.  
  
“Special care?” Jeans gaze flickered back to the powerful looking horse that was busily chewing at some soaked hay in the corner of her stall.  
  
“Yep.” Marco’s features seemed to waver a bit, as if somberness grasped him before his smile regained ground over his face. Fiddling with the throatlatch on his horses bridle, he looked back affectionately at the mare.  
  
“Rescue horse?” Jean suddenly guessed, judging from the protective look in Marco’s eyes.  
  
Marco nodded slowly, “In the deepest sense of the word. I found her when she was just skin and bones, weight dropping fast below healthy — she had worms, weakness in her legs, it was bad. Took five years to get her to where she is now.” Marco visibly shook as he spoke, grabbing on to one of the stall bars to steady himself.  
  
“You sure took care of her, though.” Jean mumbled quietly.  
  
The tension in the other rider’s body seemed to lessen. “Yeah, well, she saved me more than I saved her. I was going through a rough time in my life, but this old girl lifted me up by my bootstraps.” Marco released his tight knuckled grip on the bars.  
  
“It’s nice to have someone to look after you.” Jean spoke, running his knuckles over his own horse’s neck. As much crap as they gave each other, Jean would be lost without his chestnut gelding, and he knew it.  
  
“I think so.” Marco agreed, turning back to Jean. With another friendly gaze, Marco stepped back from the stall.  
  
“So, see you in a bit? At the Titan café?” His voice was so eager; it made Jean smile back, though the quirk of his lips barely made his eyes.  
  
“Yeah,” Jean murmured, hoping Marco didn’t catch the disappointment in his voice as he watched the other leave the stable.  
  
Jean turned away from the long row of stalls and pressed his cheek against Cheval’s warm neck. “I’m in deep shit, aren’t I?” He breathed against his horse’s short clipped hair. His horse nickered softly in what Jean thought sounded an awful lot like agreement.


	2. Tricks on the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco Bodt was just too perfect, and it was starting to piss Jean off in the best ways.

Cheval made a show of wobbling his lips over Jeans shoulder, nipping at him with the softness of his muzzle till Jean pushed him away with a good-natured nudge and a pat on his broad forehead, the fine hairs blazing into a long white stripe. It seemed that the young gelding had realized he had performed well today, and was in high spirits because of it, his head bobbing softly to his high pitched nickering that made his owner smile.  
  
“Oh, yes, baby boy, I am very proud of you.” Jean mumbled as he tickled his horse underneath his chin, softly singing a mantra of “oui, oui, oui,” to the horse until he shouldered his mounts tack out of the stall and closed the solid door down with a clank.  
  
After a quick trip to the tack room where he took a few more minutes than usual in cleaning out the chestnut hairs that were stiff and dusty and clinging to Cheval’s saddle blanket and curry combs, Jean latched up the door—Levi, the co-stable owner and polo pony trainer hated it when things were not left perfect and neat—and made his way outside for a quick change of clothes that would then be accompanied by a coffee amongst friends. Jean sighed fitfully, worrying his lip between his teeth as his mind conjured up the real meaning behind such an outing that he knew his selfishness had led him to—to get another look at the frustratingly cute and slightly bothersome western rider that had made Jean almost forget himself this morning and act less cooler than usual. Because let’s face it, Jean was pretty damn cool.  
  
Cracking his back with his thumbs pressed against his skin, he hissed and made his way out the stable, kicking up dry bedding shavings as he trotted along, wandering over to his car where he knew a change of clothes were. After huffing and clawing at the clutter in his car, he found them tucked neatly in the back in a duffle that once boasted his time as a soccer player back in college. While soccer was a cheaper sport then dressage, there wasn’t that satisfaction that he got from being engaged with another living animal as if it was a part of him, not only another player, but an extension of himself. But, before he went all existentialist on his life, he stopped to rummage around the back seat to nab his converse and join them with his elbow crook of spare clothes.  
  
As much as it was fun to be a douche bag and wear all his duds outside for the world to see that he was a competitive dressage rider, he wasn’t that much of a prick – and he didn’t want Marco to get the wrong idea of him, that he was some elitist fuck who held his pinky up when he drank his Gatorade like everyone else. Jean was grumpy, yeah, but he wasn’t an asshole. Some people just couldn’t tell the difference.  
  
After grabbing his bag of clothes he waddled over to the bathrooms, placing the bag on the tile floor and commenced to change into a soft hoodie which was scrunched over his sweat-stained binder, his creased jeans that were slightly over washed smelling of saddle soap. They’d have to do, though, Jean sighed as he ran a palm up his hair to smooth the frizz. Lacing up his shoes he sighed and splashed some cold water on his face from a half-empty water bottle in his cup holder to rid his jaw of the coated arena dust that had accumulated on his clean shaven face. After biting his lip and checking his appearance in the dinky little side mirror, he started to walk out from the parking lot to the arena. He was nervous and jittery as fuck, and the fact that he was about to ingest a few cups of coffee did not disillusion himself to that specific brand of idiocy.  
  
Stepping out into the afternoon sunlight that was already growing colder, the air stiffening, he threw his dirty clothes in his car and cracked the window slightly, knowing his breeches would stink up his car with saddle soap stains and horse sweat.  
  
He could feel his pulse beat in his throat, the kind of feeling one gets when they’re trotting on a yearling—all forceful and strained. He whined pathetically at the existence that had become his life before he turned his heel and began walking towards the slightly decrepit picnic tables near the paddocks where the others would be waiting for him in their equally rustic thrift-store wear.  
  
Rubbing his forearm, he tried to grasp some form of stubborn pompousness that he could pass off as confidence that seemed to come easily to him, at least according to Jaeger. But, nipping at his bottom lip and almost ruining it to bleed, he couldn’t lie to himself—he was scared, not because Marco was intimidating, but because he was so god damn perfect. Jean was not good in the face of perfect people—the first time he saw Mikasa perform a piaffe perfectly, her horse steady and collected and listening to all her commands, he almost peed himself a little, going slack jawed with envy and adoration. But the thing with Mikasa was she was unattainable, and she was in a league all her own that Jean couldn’t even touch. She didn’t fancy him like that, and Jean could respect that (though his ego did bruise, like, a million times over)—but Marco, Marco had been kind, and gentle with what little moments the two men had together—he was perfectly engaging and he appeared to Jean to be more than approachable. He seemed even interested, at least in a friendship if nothing else.  
  
Jean himself could always readily admit it when he was scared shitless, such as when Hanji would request he collect and extend all gaits or when Cheval spooked from a cluster of birds in flight during a warm-up run and Jean had to calm him down, but this... Meeting Marco Bodt for coffee, abet with several other people all around them like chaperons, seemed to be one of the hardest and scariest things Jean was about to do—and he was about to do it, willingly. Jean furrowed his mouth into a frown, one that spoke volumes to the fact that he was about to doom himself.  
  
Squaring his wiry shoulders and wiping his cold sniffling red nose with the sleeve of his hoodie he huffed, marching into the main eaves where the picnic tables were dragged out every year to overlook the stables meager event arena.  
  
Ahead of him he could see them, the gathered group that he would soon be a part of, traversing the sides of the blindingly white paddock fencing to take a short cut through the small gulch that hadn’t been filled with water since forever and then across the small asphalt road to the Titan Café for some hot coffee and those small little shortbread biscuits that Jean loved—he could eat like 20 in one sitting, if his wallet allowed. Owning a horse was expensive as fuck, and Cheval seemed to always eat better than him.  
  
Marco was there, of course. Looking tall and perfect in the afternoon sunlight that was a cold gold on everyone’s faces. That fact made Jean break out into a cold sweat as he stared at the other in his poofy flannel coat that made him look bigger than he already was, like a woodsman that would smack an axe into a tree and then scoop Jean up into his arms and ravish him. Jean felt his face burn, he had to tell Sasha to stop leaving those dog-eared romance novels in his car.  
  
Jean watched as the others speckled dimpled smile widened as he turned toward Historia who was talking to him pleasantly, her fiancé behind her, carefully weighing Marco as friend or foe. Jean knew Historia and Ymir were fanatic polo players, he had seen them on the field and they were intense to say the least. Ymir herself would be the first trans woman in the county to enter herself into the spring Jumping competition, Jean himself the second trans man to enter a Dressage competition in the whole state—something that was very much an honor onto their stable. However, in Jeans opinion, Ymir’s Swedish warm blood was a big pain in the ass on the green, but he had to admit that she really knew how to handle that mare alongside Historia’s monstrous Westphalian. The two were a good combo, on and off the field, though Ymir would make fake gagging noises as she blushed every time someone told her as such.  
  
However, other than occasionally watching a match that Hanji enthusiastically refereed and Levi hosted, Jean hadn’t interacted with the two that much. He supposed though that since Marco was new, he’d have to become acquainted with everyone sooner or later. Jeans jealousy be damned.  
  
“Finally put that brat in his pen?” Reiner called to Jean as the two-toned blond walked over, a lazy smile on his face for the hulking straw haired blond. Jean and Reiner had always been fast friends, the guy was kinda’ a big teddy bear, so Jean greeted him with a joking punch on his arm which the other returned back with a grin. Jean himself though was careful to not punch too hard, dude was built like a brick house and stood higher than a 17 hand thoroughbred. Jean had no urge to break his fist, thank you very much.  
  
“Finally get that brute of a horse to take a Waterford Universal? Heard he was close to gagging.” Jean shot right back, Reiners smirk turning into a pouting frown. Jean knew Reiner had been working for days to get his horse to take that specifically tricky bit and his Hanoverian named Rüstung just wasn’t having it. The poor gelding would either retch or attempt to knock Reiner to the ground with a grand swing of his blackened head against the blonds shoulder. It was a pathetic sight to watch Reiner plead in baby-talk to his horse as if he was an over grown pony, bribing the coal black gelding with crab apples and carrot sticks to take the bit that was designed specifically for strong jumpers.  
  
“Fuck you, Kirschtein.” He shot back with a playful biting tone, Jean nudging the other man’s shoulders in a bump that was accompanied by a chuckle.  
  
“I’ll help you sometime, maybe. Just gotta’ use those soft hands and not bash his teeth in when you do it, maybe start off on a rubber snaffle again. Also, there’s this great warm bit and honey trick...” Jean trailed off, Reiner scratching his chin and nodding, but Jean could already tell he wasn’t listening to what the other was saying, his eyes staring at Historia and Ymir as they chatted up their new friend. Jean sighed and turned toward Bertholdt who was leaning against a fence with Annie, politely listening to Jean while his boyfriend wasn’t. Jean wasn’t the best at making conversation, but at least Bertl was always kind enough to pretend to look impressed.  
  
Leaning forward, but his back still bowed into himself, Jean watched the usually shy jumper smile sheepishly. “Hey, Jean. I heard you rode Cheval pretty well today, Eren was just telling us...”  
  
“Whoa, Eren was saying something good about me, hold on.” Jean laughed, eyes flicking to Eren who was grinning towards him now, taking a gulp of his water bottle before he passed it to Armin for a swig.  
  
“Hey, just because you have the tact of a jackass doesn’t mean I do.” Eren huffed with a smirk, as he leered towards Jean. Jean bite his tongue to keep him from cackling out some scathing remark—the usual protocol on how his and Eren’s relationship progressed. However, proving himself to be an even crasser asshole than this morning was surely not a way to gain favor with Marco. Marco, who was now looking at them, his dimples deepening with the widening of his smile.  
  
“Hey, Jean.” Marco hummed, waddling close to Jean, the yellow sinking sun from behind the eucalyptus and elm trees making his brown face glow like brass, all shining and warm. Jean felt his throat clench and his mouth grow dry.  
  
“Hey, yourself, cowboy.” Jean joked, though it came out strained and squeaking, his face shading pink, a motion Reiner noticed.  
  
“Ah, Marco, so you’ve met Jean, our star eligible bachelor and jackass!” Reiner grinned, all but giggling—which was a crude sort of motion coming from a man that looked like one of the bucking bulls during rodeo season. At his side, Annie sighed, giving Jean a pitying look that meant Reiner had found his next project.  
  
While kind hearted and well meaning, the taller blond very much liked to meddle into things that didn’t concern him, give advice when he’d never take it—his heart was in the right place, he really was a good guy. But honestly, Jean had seen Reiner when he weaseled his way into making one of his friends top priority in a project, it wasn’t pretty and it didn’t always end well. Needless to say, Connie will always remember the time he got that hoof print bruise on his ass that stayed for weeks when Reiner used his scheming to get the bald man and Sasha together. They hooked up, but Connie will never go past the pony pasture without crossing himself and muttering a Catholic warding hymn. Little shaggy fuckers could really pack a back leg hit.  
  
“Yeah, we met this morning, could have met under better circumstances, but I’d say we’re friends now, wouldn’t you, Jean?” Marco asked and with that voice Jean found himself getting more and more entranced with. It was as smooth as a saddles slope but slightly deep and fitting, and it had Jean getting more and more frustrated.  
  
“Mmmmhmmm, best of friends.” Jean agreed with a little steadying shake of his breath, trying to still himself from dragging his knuckles over his face with biting nervousness, as if with a quick swipe he could wipe away his blush. Oh sure, he could be a pompous conceited aesthetic god early in the morning when faced with the freckled cowboy, but as soon as he was back in denim pants and a tacky two-sizes-too-big sweatshirt, then he was just as normal as any other shmuck.  
  
Reiner smiled sharply as he watched his friend struggle. “You’re a western rider, right?” He asked, turning back to Marco who beamed, proud and bright eyed. It reminded Jean of the look he gave him when he was talking about his Appaloosa, a mirthful sense of joy that spread over his entire face and infected his smile.  
  
“I’m a western rider and trick rider.” Marco hummed, shoving his hands in his pockets, his breath sputtering with cold as he spoke, causing Jean to shiver and shift in his converse. They better start heading out if they wanted to walk into town before sunset and get the good booth seats...table seats were for losers, obviously.  
  
“RIGHT ON MAN, TRICK RIDING FOR LIFE!” Someone near the bare apple trees at the first wooden table whooped, Jean knowing instantly whose shrill voice it belonged too, Connie already skipping forward with a sharp grin. He shook his fists in front of him with excitement, a gesture that caused Marco to laugh good naturedly in agreement.  
  
“So, Marco, lookin’ for a social life here or is it strictly equine sporting? We don’t have hoedowns or BBQs much, but...” Reiner smiled, obviously teasing the other but it still made Jean sigh. The repetitiveness of Reiner’s advice and conversation was the scourge of well-meaning bullshit.  
  
“Uh...” Marco smiled sheepishly, his hand coming up to grab at his hat still atop his head as if he felt removing it would somehow remove the curious olive eyes from the blond before him.  
  
“Reiner!” Bertholdt scolded, a drop of sweat peeling down his smooth brown skin, his bushy brows furrowed as he frowned disapprovingly at his boyfriend.  
  
“What I meant to say, Marco, was are you in a relationship?” Reiner laughed, Annie next to him rolling her eyes, taking out her phone and beginning to walk along the paddock, an exasperated Bertholdt following her with a tremble in his step, as if he wanted to chastise the other but thought better of it. Reiner would just have to learn on his own. Slowly, with tired chuckles as todays work on their horses and themselves had been trying, the others began to trickle down the road as well.  
  
“I... Ah, hah, why would you ask—” Marcos eyes widened, Reiner clapping him on the back with heartiness and a grin.  
  
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m already spoken for with that cutie there,” Reiner jolted his finger to point at Bertl who’s back was turned, though he still shook his head, his shoulders scrunched in his sweater.  
  
“Reiner stop scaring him...” Bertl huffed, not even looking at his boyfriend as he walked down the drive. Jean almost snickered at the drawl in his voice if the conversation hadn’t been that uncomfortable.  
  
Jean, who knew how brash Reiner was but who never thought he would be so invasively pestered, coughed into his cold red tinted hands. Though, Jean would be lying if he denied that he himself wasn’t curious as to the relationship status of the other. He really wished to know if he had a chance with the him—it was like some bad Romeo and Juliet situation, only instead of different families they were in different sporting worlds and the premise was not so heteronormative and no one would die...hopefully? The dude was a trick rider, who knew what dangerous shit he could do. Like, rings of fire and unsaddled horses and shit.  
  
“Reiner, seriously, cut it out.” He laughed, Reiner frowning at the other, his blond brows pulled low. After a few seconds he sighed with a big gust of air from his chest, smiling.  
  
“Sorry, Marco. Let me apologize by buying you a coffee.” He smiled, the nostrils at his slightly crooked nose that was supposed to make him look scary but just made him look even more enduring, flared.  
  
Breathing better, Marco smiled, even sending a quick thank you motion with his gaze to Jean, his eyes imploringly gentle. Jean almost choked.  
  
“Sure, thanks. Ah, what equine sport do you do by the way?” He asked, ever the polite country bumpkin that already had Jean swooning and trying to recollect every romance novel of Sasha’s he had read where it was western themed and the main guy constantly talked with a drawl. Marco didn’t have that much of a drawl, but it was still a nice voice nonetheless.  
  
Reiner turned to Jean then with a beam, “Jean, would you like to fill in our new resident what glorious sport I partake in?”  
  
“Oh, brother.” Connie sighed, wedging himself under Reiners armpit to join the little circle the three of them had made, sandwiching himself between Reiner and Marco.  
  
Jean laughed with easement slowly filling his voice again. “He, Bertholdt, Annie and occasionally Ymir, are all jumpers.”  
  
Connie rolled his eyes, making a gagging noise as his lip curled up in a mock snarl.  
  
“Yeah, okay, but Marco and I know that we’re the reaaaaal jumpers.” Connie bounced up from leaning against Jean, smirking as he elbowed Marco.  
  
Marco smiled politely though Jean could see a gleam of competitiveness tint his warm brown eyes. “What they do is beautiful, but I will agree that in comparison to what I and you do? They can’t touch us.” He hummed, the soft line of his lips coming into a grin that had Connie giggling devilishly with agreement, licking his lips and watching Reiner’s face sour. Connie was always into the politics of horse riding, he was as real a shit disturber as they came.  
  
Reiner scoffed, shaking his head solemnly. “Trick riders are mad men.”  
  
Jean guffawed, feeling the conversation return to an easy atmosphere that he had no problem traversing, even if Marco was still attached to the subject. At least there was less a chance that Jean would screw up again and show some unfavorable side.  
  
“Amen.” He nodded toward Reiner as they started to walk away from the winding fence line towards the woods and the passing gulch, the crags in the parched gully already within view.  
  
Marco smirked right back, a smile that showed more teeth than Jean had ever seen in the man’s grin.  
  
“Oh, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” He said, not even bothering to curb his slight drawl as he and Connie turned up their noses and with little preparation, jumped expertly with finesse over the gulch. Both their eyes gleamed challenging and bright on the other side, leaving the two English riders to gape behind them, lost in the dust and watching the other two, arms locked, trot forward.  
  
“Oh, shit.” Jean breathed, eyes locked on the passing figures, his main focus on the perfection that was Marco Bodt.  
  
Reiner sighed and clapped Jean on the back sympathetically. “Dude, you got your worked cut out for you.” He mumbled before he leaped over the gulch as well, leaving Jean to pitifully whine on the other side.  
  
The greatest trick Jean had ever fallen for, in that moment he realized, was falling for a trick rider.  
  
...


End file.
